


Repetition

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Boredom, No Dialogue, mild romance, voltron team - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He woke early, like always. It was a habit drilled into him by months of repetition, the same thing happening over and over again. It still felt like there was a schedule, a tradition that was played out every day.He was not prepared.





	Repetition

He woke early, like always. It was a habit drilled into him by months of repetition, the same thing happening over and over again. Despite being in space, it still felt like there was a schedule, a tradition that was played out every day.

He dressed, the same clothes he wore every day. The design and flaws in each piece of clothing was as easy to recall as the alphabet. They were just another thing that never changed.

He left his room, making his way to the training area with no real speed or rush. The corridors were bland and empty, a maze of repetition where it would be far too easy to get lost in the never-changing halls.

He reached the training room, the only one there. The training bots were activated, and he began going through the motions with them. One foot whipped around for a kick, dropping into a duck to avoid an attempted strike. The movements were predictable, and he danced with the bots in a flowing mix of dodges and ducks, shots and strikes. The rhythm was easy to follow, a beat he had memorised for months.

He finished his training, and observed the time. The others would probably be awake now, starting their own routines for the day, never complaining about the similarities from one day to another.

He knew the day was only just beginning, but the stale repetition of everything made him feel weary, exhaustion seeping at his bones. Arriving at the kitchens, he grabbed some of the food goo that was available. The same lime sludge, again and again. It was tasteless, the same tasteless that it had been since the start.

He heard the call for team training. The monotonous ringing was familiar, hammered into his head daily for as long as he could remember it being there. If he arrived early, he would be forced into conversation with whoever was there, the same small talk from every day that didn't fit with the closeness they all shared. If he arrived late, he would be gently berated by the rest of the team, the same trick to make him feel bad that they used every time.

He enjoyed the team training. The moves were the same, the patterns of the fights repeated again and again as if they were stuck on a loop that could never be broken. Conversation, however, was different. Topics to talk about changed, morphing from food to training to memories in a way that seemed so different from everything else.

He enjoyed listening to the conversation, only dropping in to make a dry remark or warn someone about an approaching bot.

He did not expect them to ask him the questions. It didn't happen like that, and it never had. He was quiet and listening constantly. When he didn't want to speak, the topic was dropped around him.

He was not prepared for someone to try to break in to his personal story, someone to try to learn about him by pressuring him into talking.

He was not prepared, but he was not surprised.

He mumbled under his breath what was not really an answer. A hand on his shoulder tried to stop him, but he turned and ran from the room.

He was surprised by something else.

He was not left to his own devices to sulk in a corner until the others had finished and come back, laughing and talking amongst themselves as they wandered through the same corridors and said the same things again and again and again.

He looked up the one who had followed him, and did not see a face full of joy and humour. It was a face drenched in regret, a face that was looking to him and apologising.

He did not know what to say, so he sat there, looking at the white walls and the dark floors, the clothes that they wore, anything that was the same as it was meant to be, as it had been through the long and empty months. Anything to distract him from the difference.

He felt a press of lips against his cheek and a gush of air as the one thing in his life that seemed different ran away from him, down the same halls towards the same people having the same conversations.

Kieth, however?

Kieth felt different.

Something was not the same any more.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is Blazey. I hope you enjoyed. If I get around to it, you might even get a chapter from Lance's POV. Have good days.


End file.
